


27 Roses

by Crown_of_Winterthorne



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, BokuAkaKuro Week, Domestic, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Future Fic, M/M, Polyamory, Tattooed Akaashi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-21
Updated: 2017-05-21
Packaged: 2018-11-03 10:17:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10965204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crown_of_Winterthorne/pseuds/Crown_of_Winterthorne
Summary: Akaashi is a struggling writer at twenty-seven and feels like he's going to be left behind by his more successful boyfriends. Bokuto and Kuroo are there to remind him that it's not a race and no one gets left behind.





	27 Roses

**Author's Note:**

> **For BokuAkaKuro Week:**  
>  **Day 6:** ~~"I’d Like To Up My Physical Power Levels”~~ | Flowers
> 
> Thanks to Seth for giving me a way to wrap this fic up! (Although, uh, it _still_ didn't want to end, even after your help. Oops.)

When they came through the front door after practice, laughing and holding hands, Kuroo was carrying a bouquet of pale pink roses and Bokuto had a small bakery box.

“We're home!” Bokuto called, dropping his sports bags in the entry. He handed Kuroo the bakery box so he could shrug out of his coat and scarf. “Ready for birthday cake?”

No answer.

“Keiji?” Kuroo tried. Akaashi should have been home.

They looked at each other with puzzled frowns and finished shedding their shoes and winter gear. As they came around the sofa into the living room they could see Akaashi lying beneath the kotatsu with his back to them. He had the blankets drawn to his hips, revealing that he was wearing the grey backless tunic that Kuroo and Bokuto both loved. It left his tattoo bare, displaying the owl and crescent moon on his shoulder, where it was surrounded by a spill of peonies. The fat blossoms spread down towards his hips to end in a curl of petals, feathers and a playful black cat.

Akaashi made no move to greet his lovers, but they could tell by the tension in his shoulders that he was awake.

“Babe?” Kuroo asked, setting the flowers and cake down.

“Keiji, what's wrong?” Bokuto knelt down beside his head and reached out to stroke his long, disheveled hair. “Are you not feeling well?”

Akaashi brushed his hand away and sat up slowly, the blood rushing to his head. He was wearing his glasses but it was still easy to see that his eyes were puffy and red. He'd rubbed off most of his mascara and eyeliner.

“My book was rejected,” he said quietly. “Again.”

“Oh, Keiji,” Bokuto breathed. He wanted to reach out for him again, but clearly Akaashi didn't want to be touched. He hated that—his instinct was to wrap Akaashi into his arms and hold him until the sadness passed—but he sat back on his heels and fisted his hands into his lap.

“Shit,” Kuroo muttered, sitting down beside them. “I'm sorry, babe.”

That Akaashi didn't protest the endearment showed just how upset he was. “They called it derivative and predictable.”

“It isn't. We would have told you if it was. _Kai_ would have told you.”

“That's what he said, but…” Akaashi shrugged, sighing heavily. Sometimes he wondered if the only reason Kai had agreed to be his agent was as a favor to Kuroo. “I've lost count of how many times it's been rejected. Maybe it's just not that good. Maybe _I'm_ not that good.”

“Of course you are,” Bokuto insisted. “You didn't get hired at the magazine because you're a _bad_ writer.”

“You mean the magazine where I'm relegated to covering obscure indie bands until they become popular enough for the senior writers to care?” It sounded bitter even to his own ears, but Akaashi was feeling bitter. He was twenty-seven with an unpublished book he'd poured the better part of five years into writing and a job that often left him overworked, unfulfilled and unappreciated.

Meanwhile, Bokuto and Kuroo were both playing for the reigning V.League champions and were being strongly considered for the national team. Oikawa Tooru was Bokuto's setter now, showcasing every ounce of talent Akaashi had always known the spiker had but could never bring out himself. Kuroo was in line to be co-captain next season, when Hashimoto-san retired.

Akaashi couldn't help but feel like a failure compared to their success.

He ran a hand through his curls and considered—not for the first time—cutting his hair short, removing his earrings and getting a teaching job. Wasn't that what failed writers were supposed to do?

“‘Kaashi…” Bokuto said softly, reverting to the old nickname. At some point it had become more than a mangled version of his name and turned into an endearment instead.

Akaashi wasn't sure if the nostalgia made him feel better or worse.

“The magazine approached you,” Kuroo reminded him. “The editors want you there and if the other writers are taking credit, it's because they're afraid of you.”

“It's because they're _not_ afraid of me that they do it,” he muttered. “I hate the politics. I hate the hierarchy.”

“Then fuck it,” Kuroo said. “Tell them to back off when your next band goes major. _You_ went to the shows. _You_ did the interviews. _You_ wrote the reviews.”

“What's the worst that could happen?” Bokuto gave him an encouraging smile. Kuroo tried not to wince, because that was probably _not_ the best thing to say. Not with Akaashi.

“I could get fired, for one. Blacklisted for another.”

“We’ll support you no matter what,” he promised, oblivious—or maybe just desperate—in his effort to lift Akaashi’s ever-plummeting mood. “Won't we, Tetsu?”

“Of course we will,” he agreed, and then because they were already heading towards a pissed off Akaashi, he plunged ahead. “We've told you before, Keiji. If you want to quit to write books full time, we'll make it work.”

“How can I do that when I can't even get the first one published?!” he snapped, sounding more hysterical than angry. “Neither of you understand—you _have_ your dreams.”

There it was. Kuroo had suspected it for awhile—ever since the last rejection letter—but Bokuto was blindsided. The stricken look on his face normally would have made Akaashi crumble. He held onto his anger this time, getting to his feet and pacing impatiently across the floor.

“How much further ahead do you two have to be before I'm left behind for good?” he asked, picking at his deep green nail polish. “How long do I have to wait until it's my turn?”

“It's not a race, Keiji,” Kuroo said. His voice remained calm because if either he or Bokuto lost their tempers, Akaashi was liable to explode. It was rare, but that didn't make it any more bearable. Venting was not the same as fighting and they all three hated to fight.

“Isn't it? Our friends are all getting married and starting families. We can't even go out anymore because it would hurt your careers. Kai just got a promotion, Kenma just released his first game, and Konoha is opening his own shop next month. I'm lucky to even get a byline in a second-rate rock magazine and my coworkers treat me more like an assistant than their peer.” Akaashi felt tears prick at the back of his eyes and he angrily blinked them back. “All I have is you, and I… I'm afraid you're going to move on one day because I can't keep up.”

“That's not how this works,” Bokuto reminded him. He was heartbroken at the very thought of ever leaving Akaashi behind. “We’re a team. A family. And it doesn't matter what anyone else is doing—we aren't them. We do what's right for us.”

“What does that even mean? I thought I was doing the right thing, but instead…” Akaashi held his hands out helplessly, sighing. “I wasn't supposed to be a fuck-up.”

“You're not,” Bokuto said firmly. He'd never tolerated anyone saying things like that about Akaashi. Especially not Akaashi himself. “It’s just taking you a little longer to get where you want to be. That doesn't make you a failure.”

“It feels otherwise.”

Kuroo shrugged. “Okay, but Murakami Haruki didn't even start writing until he was in his thirties, forties?”

“Twenty-nine,” Akaashi admitted. “But Murakami Ryu wrote _Almost Transparent Blue_ when he was still in university!”

“So what?” Bokuto demanded. “Ushiwaka was on the national team when he was twenty. I'll be lucky to make it before I'm thirty, but you know what? I'm not the one with the blown-out shoulder and knees like an old man.”

Kuroo laid his hand on top of Bokuto’s, both as a caution and a comfort. They were all fully aware that athletes came with expiration dates, but for Bokuto especially, it was a terrifying prospect to work so hard and then lose it all before he was ready to retire.

Akaashi was afraid of never having anything at all.

“I just want my own success,” he finally said, sinking onto the sofa. Leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, he hid his face in his hands, fingers sliding beneath his glasses to press against his raw eyes. “I want you to have a reason to be proud of me. Not… not just because you're supposed to be.”

“Hey,” Kuroo said softly, shuffling to his knees in front of Akaashi, “hey, it has _never_ been like that. Not for me, not for Kou. Right?”

“Right,” Bokuto agreed. “If I only felt the things I was supposed to for you, Keiji, we wouldn't be here in the first place.”

Akaashi felt his mouth flicker towards a smile, but his lovers couldn't see it with his head still buried in his hands. “No one could ever make you do something you didn't want, Koutarou.”

“See? So don't worry. Not about us, at least.” He got up from the floor to sit beside Akaashi, shifting the flowers and cake further aside so that they wouldn't be crushed. “Keijj, I just want you to be happy. It doesn't matter how long it takes. I’ll be here for you. However you need me.”

“Me too,” Kuroo said. “You're not planning on leaving us if we can't play volleyball anymore, right? Or when we retire?”

“Of course not.” Lifting his head up, Akaashi found Kuroo’s eyes even with his own and he had to glance away.

“Love isn't conditional on success or failure,” Kuroo looked to Bokuto, who nodded in confirmation. “Not for us. Not in this house. So we’ll wait forever for you, Keiji, if you'll do the same when we fall behind.”

“That's really cheesy, Tetsu,” Bokuto teased him. “I like it though.”

“So do I,” Akaashi admitted. He leaned against Bokuto’s shoulder, smiling faintly as a strong arm wrapped around his waist. Still kneeling at his feet, Kuroo took his hand and squeezed.

“Kai’s going to try another publisher?” he asked.

“He said he would,” he sighed, lacing his fingers with Kuroo’s, “but there are only so many publishing houses. I might have to give up on this one.”

“Your other book’s almost finished though,” Bokuto said. “What's he said about that one?”

“He likes it. As soon as it's done, he'll start shopping it around. He’d do it now, but I'm afraid of jinxing it.”

“It'll happen,” Kuroo told him. “Maybe it's not the right time for the first book, maybe you're meant to have the second one published first. Who knows? But you're a good writer. Kai will find the right publisher for you. Somebody who believes in you as much as we do.”

Akaashi nodded, resting his head on Bokuto’s shoulder. “I know. I'm just so tired of being disappointed.”

Bokuto leaned his cheek against Akaashi’s curls. They were soft and his shampoo smelled like jasmine flowers. “I hate seeing you unhappy, Keiji. How can we make it better?”

“I don't know.”

“It’s okay,” Kuroo said. “You don't have to. What if we just do what we planned tonight? Forget about everything else for at least a few hours.”

“I'm not sure I'm in much of a birthday mood. I'm not very hungry either. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he shook his head. He'd planned to fix a fancy dinner with all of Akaashi’s favorites, but there was no sense in doing it if he couldn't eat. “We'll do it tomorrow.”

“Koutarou, no. You were looking forward to cooking—”

“It's okay, Keiji. It was for you, so it's fine if we have to wait. I can still fix us dinner. Soup or something, if you feel up to it.”

“Maybe just rice,” he shrugged.

“Whatever you want,” Bokuto assured him, kissing his hair. “I’ll get the rice cooker started and go grab a shower, then fix Tetsu and me something.”

“Then we can watch a movie,” Kuroo said, “like we were going to do.”

Akaashi nodded. “Okay.”

Kuroo smiled and stretched up onto his knees so that he could kiss Akaashi. He got to his feet in one of those smooth, graceful movements that Akaashi sometimes forgot he was capable of. “I'll get my shower while you start dinner, Kou. Keiji, you gonna be okay?”

“I'll be fine,” he nodded, choosing his words purposefully. He knew it wouldn't be lost on either man, but they let it be.

“All right,” Kuroo kissed him one more time, then left to pad down the hall to their bedroom.

“I'll put the cake in the fridge,” Bokuto said, also kissing Akaashi once. “Late night snack or save it for tomorrow, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he agreed, though the thought of even attempting a bite of cake fell heavily in his stomach. He felt cold when Bokuto let go of him, colder still as he was left sitting alone on the sofa with the ignored bouquet of flowers.

Reaching out, Akaashi gathered the bouquet into his arms. He didn't need to count to know. The bouquet got bigger every year. Twenty-seven pink roses.

Roses for love. Pink for happiness.

They were beautiful. Expensive, especially this time of year, but what had begun as desperation—Kuroo and Bokuto both were terrible at buying gifts ahead of time—was now a tradition Akaashi looked forward to. His first tattoo had been a pink rose, small and delicately drawn on his inner thigh because he was still trying to make sure the ink was hidden from the world.

Blinking back tears—he loathed crying; he refused to do it and make his lovers worry more—Akaashi got up to take the roses into the kitchen. Bokuto was still setting the rice cooker up, looking as confident in the kitchen as he did on the volleyball court. He smiled at Akaashi and got the vase out of the top cabinet for him. It wasn't fancy, just a plain white cylinder striped with silver and black, but it looked nice when Akaashi finally had the roses wrangled into it.

He tried his hands on a dishtowel and stepped back to admire them on the dining table. The smell was heavenly, each bloom popped to perfection, and he couldn't help but smile, small and sad. The tears prickled again.

“Hey, ‘Kaashi,” Bokuto said quietly. “Can I hug you now?”

“Koutarou,” he turned, chagrined to see Bokuto standing there with that uncertain, restless look on his face. Small kisses and an arm around his waist were no substitute for Bokuto’s hugs, but he’d learned to be patient with Akaashi. Sometimes a hug was simply too much when he was upset.

But now, feeling cold and empty, all he wanted was Bokuto’s warmth. He held his arms open, wrapping them around his shoulders when he was embraced. Burying his face against Bokuto’s neck, Akaashi sank into him, feeling safe surrounded by all that strength. How he loved this man.

Bokuto felt Akaashi’s sob more than he heard it. He held him tighter, turned his head to murmur in his ear. “It's okay, Keiji. I've got you.”

It was as if permission was all he needed. Akaashi sagged against him, crying openly against his neck and clutching at his shoulders. Bokuto didn't try to hush his tears. He knew how Akaashi felt about crying. If he was crying, he needed to do it, and Bokuto would never try to make him stop. Even if it was wet and tickled.

Swaying slightly, he ran his hands up and down Akaashi’s bare back, tracing over the tattoos he knew so well. He offered reassurances but no platitudes. That wasn't what Akaashi needed or wanted. He could give him this strength, this safety and love. It was what he was best at.

“I'm here,” he promised. “I'm here, ‘Kaashi.”

They were still standing like that when Kuroo padded into the kitchen, hair damp and wearing an Iron Man shirt with his red plaid pajama pants. He didn't hesitate, crossing over to them and sliding his arms around Akaashi too, sandwiching him between himself and Bokuto.

“What did I miss?”

“Nothing,” Akaashi mumbled into Bokuto’s shoulder. “I'm fine.”

Kuroo doubted that, but he didn't call him out on it. There was only so much pushing one could do with Akaashi before he shut down completely. Better to let him start sorting out his thoughts and decide what was next for his book, his career. Better to silently offer support and let Akaashi take what he needed.

“Hey,” Bokuto kissed Akaashi’s temple, “why don't you and Tetsu go pick a movie while I shower? I'll be quick.”

“You've never taken a quick shower in your life,” Kuroo said. “Not even that time when the water heater broke.”

“Yeah, I still regret that one,” he grinned. “Keijj?”

He unwound his arms from Bokuto, nodding. “Go shower. I'll be fine. No horror, right?”

“I should say ‘whatever you want,’ since it's your birthday, but yeah, no. No horror, please.” Bokuto frowned a little, considering. “A thriller might be okay though. No monsters and no gore.”

“Serial killers okay?”

He made a face but nodded. “Yeah, I can deal with that.”

Akaashi leaned forward to kiss him lightly. “Thank you.”

He wasn't thanking him for bending on the “no horror movie” rule and Bokuto knew it. He smiled warmly, reaching up to palm Akaashi’s cheek and kissing him again.

“I'll be fast. Promise.”

Akaashi leaned back against Kuroo, missing Bokuto’s warmth as soon as it was gone. Long arms tightened around his waist and Kuroo kissed the back of his neck. Beneath his black curls there was a small tattoo of a volleyball and Kuroo placed his lips in the very center of it.

“You're really okay?” he asked, swaying a little with Akaashi in his arms.

“I will be,” he said, closing his eyes. He felt so tired. Numb. Drained empty of everything. He sagged against Kuroo, trusting him to hold up his weight. He was as strong as Bokuto, in his own way.

Kuroo understood. “C’mon, baby. You sit, I'll fish through our movies until something bites.”

“Tetsurou,” Akaashi said quietly, “you really trust Kai to tell me the truth about my book?”

“There's a reason why he was my co-captain back in high school,” Kuroo said. “It wasn't just because of his high tolerance for bullshit. If he didn't believe in your book, he'd tell you.”

Akaashi just nodded. He knew Kuroo was right, but it didn't make his doubts quiet down by much.

He disentangled himself from Kuroo’s embrace and sat down on the floor, tucking his legs under the kotatsu. The warmth wasn't the same as an embrace.

“So what are you thinking?” Kuroo knelt in front of the cabinet housing their DVD collection. The other half of their library was digital. Between the two, they could always find something to watch. “Drama? Documentary? Kaiju? Samurai?”

“ _Zodiac_ ,” he answered. It was as close to horror as Bokuto would allow and Keiji wanted the comfort of a movie he loved. The dubbing was decent and the soundtrack was excellent. He'd read the two Graysmith books at least a dozen times each and it would be a lie to say he hadn't considered a fictional novel loosely surrounding the case and its Japanese copycat. 

Maybe he needed to stop bothering with attempting literary masterpieces and churn out penny dreadfuls instead.

“Stop that,” Kuroo said, pulling the DVD case out of its place. He didn't need to turn around to know that Akaashi was overthinking again. “Whatever you're thinking, just stop.”

“I'd love to. Do we still have the wine from dinner last weekend?”

“No drinking while you're depressed. You made Kou cry last time.”

Akaashi sighed, curling up on his side in a position similar to the one he'd been in when his lovers came home. The only thing he hated more than crying was seeing Bokuto do it. There was something fundamentally wrong about that. Even worse was if he was the cause.

“I'm sorry to make you worry like this,” he said.

“It's okay. That's what we’re here for.”

Kuroo put the disc into the player and grabbed the remote. He didn't bother to turn the TV on yet, since Bokuto was still in the shower. Instead, he settled next to Akaashi, laying down facing him with their legs tangled beneath the kotatsu. He traced the backs of his fingers over Akaashi’s cheek, careful not to smudge against his glasses.

“You know I wouldn't say things if I didn't believe them, right?” he asked, tucking a stray strand of hair behind Akaashi’s ear. “You're not like Kou, needing praise and reassurance. So when I tell you I believe in you, Keiji, I want you to know it's the truth.”

“I know.” Of course he knew. Just like he knew that Kuroo didn't give empty compliments to Bokuto either. Neither of them did, even if they teased him sometimes.

They supported each other. It wasn't flattery if it was true. They didn't tell lies just to make each other feel better. Those were the rules.

Akaashi sighed again. He caught Kuroo’s hand and laced their fingers together. “Do you ever regret pursuing volleyball? You have a degree in biochemistry. You could be teaching or working in a high-tech lab somewhere.”

“I like playing with Kou,” he shrugged the shoulder he wasn't laying on. “When I retire, I'll probably go back to school and then teach. Maybe coach. Nekoma would hire me in a heartbeat. But it's not what I want right now.”

“So no regrets?”

“Well, I regret waiting so long before telling you and Kou how I felt, but professionally? No. Even if I don't get to play on the national team, it's okay. I have a team I’m proud of. I haven't had any serious injuries. I play well and I still enjoy it.” Kuroo gave him a lopsided smile. “I think the only way it could be better is if you played with us.”

“Oikawa-san is better for Koutarou. I could never… I couldn't keep up with him even in high school. Oikawa-san is the setter he deserves.”

“Bullshit.”

Akaashi and Kuroo both jerked their heads towards Bokuto as he came into the living room in a black tank and faded jeans, still towel-drying his hair.

“Oikawa tosses to me, and he's amazing, but you'll always be _my_ setter, ‘Kaashi,” he said. “You're the one who taught him how to handle my moods and he's still only half as good as you. He bitches all the time that you must have the patience of a saint.”

Kuroo smirked. “You kinda do, Keiji.”

“So does Iwaizumi-san,” he said dryly.

Kuroo and Bokuto both cracked up. If Akaashi was taking swipes at Oikawa, then he was feeling better.

Bokuto hung the towel on the back of a table chair and started making a quick stir fry for himself and Kuroo. He made extra, just in case Akaashi felt like eating more than rice after all. He didn't mind at all when he heard Kuroo and Akaashi start the movie without him.

Scary movies were not his thing and it was only mildly reassuring when he heard the familiar strains of that weird, old Donovan song. He'd be fine until the basement scene. Then he’d conveniently excuse himself to make popcorn or something while they all pretended it wasn't because of the movie.

Bokuto found a slightly scorched cookie sheet—baking wasn't his thing either—and used it as a serving tray for their dinners. It wasn't anything like the meal he'd planned, but it didn't matter as much as Akaashi did. There would be another night for birthday cake and a fancy dinner.

“Hey, hey—” He stopped short, finding Akaashi asleep with his head on Kuroo’s lap, his glasses on the tabletop. Lowering his voice, he dropped to his knees and set the tray on the kotatsu. “Should we wake him?”

“Nah. He probably needs the rest. You know how exhausted crying makes him.”

“Sometimes I wish he'd do it more often,” Bokuto admitted. “Is he really doing okay, Tetsu? I know he likes to hide things from me so I don't worry.”

“He'll be fine, babe,” Kuroo said, running his hand affectionately over Akaashi’s hair. He leaned over to kiss Bokuto. “Thanks for making dinner. You want me to turn the movie off?”

He considered that with a very serious, almost grave expression. “Maybe not yet. In case Keiji wakes up.”

Kuroo smiled. “You're way too good for us, Kou. Tell me when it gets too scary, ya big teddy bear.”

“Yeah, yeah. Don't drop any food on Keiji’s face.”

They stopped teasing each other after that, eating in comfortable silence while Akaashi slept through the movie. Kuroo thoughtfully skipped past the murder at the lake and turned it off completely at the halfway point.

“Bed?” he asked, checking his phone. It wasn't even ten o’clock yet, but they had an early practice. There was no reason not to turn in early if Akaashi was already asleep.

Bokuto nodded. “I'll take Keiji if you want to grab the dishes.”

“Don't forget his glasses.”

“I got ‘em,” he said, carefully putting them on top of his head.

Getting Akaashi into his arms without waking him was difficult but not impossible. He slept like the dead once he was asleep. Bokuto cradled him in his arms, smiling when Akaashi cuddled against him because he _never_ allowed himself to be carried that way when he was awake. Not even that time he sprained his ankle and it was swollen to the size of a grapefruit.

“I'll be right behind you guys,” Kuroo said, turning off the kotatsu heater.

“Okay. Don't worry about cleaning up. I'll do it in the morning.”

“I'll put the rice away and leave the dishes. You know Keiji will probably wake up hungry in the middle of the night.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Bokuto carried Akaashi down the hall, finding it only a little awkward because of his height. Trying not to smack Akaashi’s head or ankles into the wall required a certain amount of grace. And concentration.

Still, he got Akaashi settled into their bed without incident. He set his glasses and their phones on the bedside table, checking that the alarms were set before plugging them in. He used one of the make-up wipes Akaashi liked to remove the last smears of liner and mascara from his eyes.

Akaashi made a soft sound as Bokuto stripped him of his jeans and top, waking just enough to help. Curling up into a comfortable position, he fell back into a deeper sleep once he was tucked under the covers. Bokuto kissed his forehead and swept gentle fingers over his flower-covered shoulder.

“Happy birthday, ‘Kaashi.”

Kuroo slipped into their room just in time to hear the quiet words. The gentle affection and concern in Bokuto’s voice made him feel warm. He hated that Akaashi was upset, but he loved the way the three of them supported each other. He’d never imagined that they could be so strong together or that he could love anyone as much as he loved Akaashi and Bokuto. It seemed impossible that one heart could hold so much.

“Hey,” he smiled, reaching out for Bokuto and laying a hand on his back. “D’you need a hug too?”

“I always want hugs,” Bokuto turned, arms sliding around Kuroo’s waist. He relaxed against his taller frame, tucking his head against Kuroo’s shoulder and exhaling deeply. “I love you, Tetsu.”

“I love you too, babe,” he said, ruffling his fingers through Bokuto’s soft hair. “And Keiji too.”

“Keiji too,” he agreed, snuggling closer.

Kuroo closed his eyes and let his cheek rest against Bokuto’s hair. “Keiji asked me if I regret anything. Y’know, like choosing volleyball over the lab.”

“Do you?”

“Nope. I mean, sometimes I wonder what it would have been like, but I'm happy with my choices. What about you?” he asked.

“This is all I ever wanted. I wish we were home more with Keiji, but I’m happy.” Bokuto looked up at Kuroo, his face young and soft with his hair falling around it. “I could give up volleyball as long as I had the two of you. It’d _suck_ , but as long as I had you… I could survive.”

“Yeah, well,” Kuroo hugged him again. “Let's not test that one, huh? Olympics first and then you can retire on your own terms. You're not gonna end up like Ushijima.”

Bokuto nodded. “I know.”

“C’mon. Let's go to bed with our sad birthday boy,” Kuroo said. “He'll feel better in the morning and you can fix us a nice breakfast.”

“I think you're more concerned with _your_ breakfast than Keiji’s,” Bokuto grinned, pulling away.

“I would never.”

“Oh, save it, Tetsu,” he gave him a playful shove. “I get the middle tonight.”

“Not if I get there first.”

 

—END—


End file.
